That's Enough, Andrew
by Auntieoaty
Summary: Andrew just cannot quite leave well enough alone - Lucky for us, LOL Question begs whether things will turn out as he anticipates. A bit (in alphabetical order not quantity) angst, drama, family, & humor in addition to the two categories selected. This one'll run 4 Chps & will be my last for awhile. Check my bio for details and updates.
1. Chapter 1

**That's Enough Andrew**

Disclaimer: still own nothing/profit nothing, never try to. Strictly enjoy writing and pleased others are entertained by my efforts.

Spoilers: Yep! At least a half dozen; stopped counting after that. I always say any episode is game.

Author's Note: Once again my gratitude goes out to eyesforfiction for the pre-read, sounding board and feedback.

 **Chapter One**

Sam had quit working with Foyle after Hilda Pierce's funeral, when she had informed him she was 'PWP'; pregnant without permission, and had asked him to be the baby's godfather. A couple of months later she suffered a miscarriage and endured some complications. She was forced to finally tell Adam of the previous miscarriages and that she would not be able to have children; as a result their marriage soon began to fall apart. Within six months' time Adam had moved out and told Sam it was his intent to get a divorce; the sooner he moved out, deserting their marriage, the sooner the 3 year period would start and the sooner they would be divorced.

Foyle had been aware of the problems in the marriage and tried his best to always make himself available to Sam with a shoulder to cry on anytime it all got to be too much for her. Through the separation, legally it was desertion, and ultimately the divorce Foyle and Sam remained friends. On and off during that period Foyle made several attempts to talk Sam into returning to work with him. She held a myriad of jobs over those years; never quite finding the right fit. Foyle attributed some of her job bouncing to Sam's need to figure out what she wanted to do after her divorce. He did not push her to make any decisions regarding that future point in time. To his thinking she had enough to deal with in the moment and there would be plenty of time for her to make up her mind on other matters once her marriage was officially terminated.

A couple of months after the divorce was final, Foyle tried again to talk Sam into returning to work with him. She promised she would think about it; but, was finding her new job to be more interesting the longer she was there. At nearly six months on the job, he took that as an encouraging sign. Especially in light of the fact that it was the longest she had held any job; aside from working with him.

Foyle was unaware that Sam had begun working for his son, Andrew. The Foyle men had agreed to meet for lunch. Andrew had invited his dad to lunch on a Monday. Not a frequent event but not an entirely unusual occurrence either. Being fully aware of his father's practice of arriving to appointments early; Andrew sent Sam down to the basement archives for some files. He knew his dad did not know she worked for him and he did not want Sam to know his dad was coming to the office; at least not until he was ready for her to know.

Seating his dad in a chair; so his back was to the office door, Andrew propped the door open just enough to see down to the secretarial pool. Sam would have to pass that area on her way back to his office. He sat across from his father so he could keep watch for Sam's return. While he waited he started strategically probing for information on his dad's life.

When his son's questions veered to the topic of Foyle's love life he leveled a gaze at him and firmly stated, "That's enough, Andrew."

With the precision of a son who had well practiced the art of inquiry with his father, Andrew kept skirting the topic without actually mentioning it again.

That is until he asked after Sam and his dad said, "She's doing as well as can be expected under her current circumstances."

Andrew commented, "Ever think _you_ could improve circumstances for her?" The implication that there could something more between his father and Sam clear in the way he posed the question.

Foyle looked at his son as though he were speaking in a foreign language.

Having spotted Sam heading toward his office, Andrew scrambled to think of something else when his dad did not rise to the bait of his statement. He was well aware his previous ill treatment of Sam, so many years before, could still be a point of agitation to his father.

Andrew took a calculated risk, "I think maybe I'll ask her out. Since you won't."

Foyle leaned forward in his chair, leveled and unwavering look on his son and spoke in a slow measured tone, "Sam has had enough trouble from men lately." He stood as he employed a stern tone; an unmistakable warning edge to his quiet voice, "You stay away from Sam!"

Just as Foyle stood, Sam pushed the door open further and walked into Andrew's office at a brisk pace with an arm load of file folders; nearly colliding with Foyle. Positive she had to have heard him; Foyle immediately began to turn red. Sam had only heard the last sentence but with his reaction to her presence; she was sure there had been something more to it.

Andrew tried to explain; he started with what his dad had said right before telling him to stay away from her. That caused Foyle more embarrassment and he attempted to get Andrew to stop; again, to no avail.

Finally, giving up on halting his son directly, Foyle opted to try interrupting him instead and looked to Sam as he too started to apologize. "I'm sorry …"

She stopped him, "It's alright, Andrew knows all about the problems I've had with Adam. But, thank you for looking out for me."

Andrew said a silent prayer that his plan would work and hastily started his own apology, "Sorry, Sam. I shouldn't make jokes about asking you out. …"

Foyle turned an incredulous gaze to his son and began speaking before Andrew finished the apology, "You were making a joke?! Andrew how could you?"

The younger Foyle ploughed ahead, as though his dad had not uttered a word, "… But, I knew dad was hedging and I thought I could get him to show his hand. And, well, he kinda did. Don'tcha think?"

Andrew's open and expectant expression reinforced his words; he had played them and was both proud of himself but also nervous about their reactions.

Foyle stared at his son, awaiting an answer to his question; but, Andrew's words caught up to him and he began with a stammer, "Andrew, ah, er, you, ah ... What?!"

Andrew opened his mouth to repeat himself but his father, whose mind caught up to his mouth, interjected, "No! Stop. Never mind. I can't believe … Yes, unfortunately, I _can_ believe you just did that. Because you have a history of such …" he waved his hand between them and gave his son a look that said ' _You know_ what you've done. _Again_.'

Andrew shrugged, and said rather meekly, "Sorry, dad."

Foyle glared at him, clearly conveying his doubt of his son's sincerity, before striving to gain control of the situation. His voice surprisingly calm and quiet, "No, you aren't. You know as well as I do you were trying, once again, to get information out of me that is none of your business." He held his son's eyes daring him to deny the assertion.

Andrew held firm under the gaze for several seconds; but, then admitted softly, "I was. But, not for the reason you think. It wasn't for curiosity sake, dad. It was because I know…" he faltered under his father's continuous gaze and swallowed hard before continuing, "That is I _thought_ …"

His father's look softened minimally into a questioning expression and Andrew began to have even greater difficulty voicing his challenge. "Dad you, I _know_ you care about Sam and have always looked out for her."

Foyle's face relaxed the slightest bit in acknowledgement that his son had stated a fact.

Andrew took courage from that and charged ahead, "But, lately, when you talk about Sam and the things that she has been going through you get, that is, well, you seem to be angry. Like you can't stand not being able to protect her from the pain she's going through. You fume and huff, and well, I just think there's more there than you will admit to yourself ... or to Sam."

The steely eyes of his father were back; the gaze grew more intense.

Andrew braved his last assertion, rapidly, with a surprising note of conviction in his tone, "And, I think it's about time you did!"

He snatched up a couple of the folders Sam had set on his desk and nearly ran for his office door.

"There's a reservation for two, at one o'clock, at the Newlford, under the name Foyle. Enjoy your lunch you two."

He pulled the door closed behind him as he darted through the doorway and down the hall, just short of a run.


	2. Chapter 2

See Part One for Disclaimer, Spoiler and Initial Author's Note.

 **Chapter Two**

Foyle was fully aware of the fact that Sam had arranged to take the rest of the week off after they had been ensnared in Andrew's lunch date scheme the previous Monday. He also knew Sam had not spoken to Andrew since they left his son's office Monday morning; neither had he. Friday evening Foyle phoned and invited Andrew to come over the next morning. The younger man was relieved one of two was still speaking to him; but, he was also very worried about what his father would have to say about his scheme. Andrew arrived promptly the next morning; obviously lacking sleep and full of considerable apprehension.

Foyle led him into the parlor after little more than a stoic, "Hello, Andrew." when he opened the door to him.

As he ushered his son to one of the matched wing back chairs, he stated in an impassive manner, "It's time we had a talk."

Foyle took the seat across from him; a look of long practiced forbearance fixed on his face.

Without any preamble, he said, as though it were a common everyday statement, "We'll done, Andrew."

His son blinked a couple of times and then asked, hesitantly, his voice laced with genuine surprise, "Sam wasn't upset then?"

"Upset? Why would I be upset, Andrew?" The lady in question asked nonchalantly as she entered the room with a fully outfitted tea tray.

Foyle stood as she entered, having assessed the stunned look on his son's face when he saw her; he offered as he moved behind his immobile son, "Think maybe Andrew could do with something a bit stronger."

Sam looked past Andrew and started to protest, "It's only half ten..." but Christopher silently interrupted with a motion of head, eyes and eyebrows toward Andrew.

Glancing down in front of her, Sam saw the shocked expression on the younger man's face as he stared blankly at her. She quickly switched direction, walked past Andrew and set the tea tray down behind him on the trolley; where Christopher had just finished pouring his son a short neat scotch.

Apparently the sight of her, quiet comfortable and seemingly at home, in his father's rooms was so far beyond what the younger man had expected it left him completely dumbfounded.

As Foyle pivoted, a quarter turn to face Sam, he extended his arm further around and tapped Andrew's shoulder with the glass.

When the drink was not readily claimed by his son, Foyle tapped the shoulder again and said, "Here."

Andrew mechanically extended his hand up and took hold of the glass.

Foyle reached out and drew Sam into his embrace, "Don't fret over him. He'll catch on before long." Christopher gave her a look, as though he were angling for a joke and then his expression quickly shifted as he pulled her closer and lower his head to hers, his whisper of, "I did." was barely audible before he claimed her lips in a rather fervent kiss.

Sam responded to his kiss, in kind, for several long moments; before tilting her head away for some much needed air. Foyle brushed his lips along her cheek as he moved to nuzzled her neck and let Sam catch her breath. As much as she was enjoying his intimate attentions Sam was becoming more and more distracted by the fact that his son was only a few feet away. Granted he couldn't see them and they were exceedingly quiet. However, she could see Andrew and the more ardently Christopher expressed his affection for her, at her neck, the more difficult it became for her to stay quiet. Sam reluctantly moved her hands up between them and gently pushed at Christopher's shoulders as she lifted her head.

He gave her a slightly surprised look that quickly morphed into a questioning one and she could not resist kissing his cheek as she leaned to whisper in his ear, "Steady on Christopher."

Placing a quick kiss to his ear she leaned back and then continued the motion with her head; moving it a bit further to the side followed by her eyes. She drew his gaze to the chair beside them, to remind him of his son's presence in the room. When she brought her eyes back to him, Christopher gave her a tight little smirk and a roll of his eyes. Sam knew immediately that he had completely forgotten Andrew was there. She pinched her lips together, and almost forgot to breathe in her attempt to keep from laughing at him and the sudden embarrassed fidgeting he did trying to collect himself and appear as though nothing had happened. When he shot Sam a look, that said she 'wasn't helping matters'; it was nearly her undoing. She reached out and pulled him into a hug.

As she held tightly to him she whispered in a calm self-assured tone, "He didn't see anything. Just take a breath and trust me. It's fine." She felt him draw a steadying breath and then she asked ever so quietly, "Trust me?'

Christopher nodded his head against her face, where she still pressed her mouth to his ear and she slowly eased herself back from him and released him from her embrace. Sam skimmed her thumb across his lips as she quickly checked his face for any mark of her lipstick and then took hold of his hand. The couple returned to Christopher's chair and she indicated he should sit down. When he did, she surprised him by sitting on the arm of his chair and leaning into his shoulder. Christopher gave her a questioning glance before he stretched his arm out and casually draped it atop her slacks clad legs; his hand suspended loosely just beyond her knees. The couple watched Andrew as they both waited for him to 'catch on'. It was only a matter of a couple of minutes, with them seated together in Andrew's line of sight, before the younger man's vision began to register their presence. He blinked slowly a few times as though he could not quite make out what he was seeing. Then he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before blinking rapidly several times and forcing himself to focus on the pair sitting across from him.

"Dad?" His bewilderment fully evidenced in his voice.

His father again employed an unaffected tone as he replied, "Yes, Andrew?"

The younger Foyle glanced from his dad to Sam and back a couple of times. He scanned their faces and assessed their close proximity and thoroughly relaxed postures. They appeared to be completely comfortable in their rather intimate deportment. His dad had has arm resting across the tops of Sam's legs. She was seated on the arm of his chair, one leg crossed over the other; her foot dangling down alongside his dad's knee and her other leg hooked over the front of the chair arm. She was also leaning, almost reclined, against his dad's shoulder, with that and her legs close alongside his; Andrew could not help but think she was all but in his dad's lap. Another look to take in the view before him just to be sure he had seen what he thought he had seen. Andrew suddenly thought the two must have been keeping a deeper relationship between them a secret from him for a long time and began to feel foolish for setting them up. Their familiarity; obvious ease and complete comfort in their close physical interactions did not appear to be that of a new couple.

Andrew's face only registered shock but his suspicion coalesced with his astonishment in one word. "Dad!?"

Foyle replied in a tone that was perfectly calm and all innocence in inflection, "What? You told me I needed to admit things to Sam and myself. I did that. Why are you so surprised?"

The expression on his son's face shifted from shock to one of dubious question, "How long?!"

Foyle was momentarily confused, "How long what?"

"How long have you and Sam been seeing each other?!" His son demanded as the pain of being deceived began to infuse his features.

Realizing his son had thought he had been misleading him, Foyle matched the steady gaze locked on him and answered his son honestly and directly; but, in an incredibly gentle tone, "Counting Monday and today; six days."

He knew that even look and that rare but always consistent tone of his father's; it was the truth. No matter how unbelievable the information may seem; that tone always bespoke truth from his dad.

"Six days." He repeated in acceptance.

Suddenly excitement flashed across his eyes; that transient, yet intense, look was one his father was all too familiar with.

Caution was clear in the one word warning; an attempt to forestall his son, "Andrew."

Excitement flickered again as though it would firmly take hold and was joined by the hint of a self-satisfied smirk, "You mean, I did this? I really ..."

Foyle's tone remained clear in its caution; but, he was sure in this case it was wasted effort. Unfortunately, he feared, he had been right all along and Andrew was going to take the positive result of his meddling to be a validation. Worse yet, he would take it as encouragement to repeat such efforts in future.

"That's _enough_ , Andrew."

"But, Dad."

Christopher gave Sam a look of 'Here we go' as his son turned a beseeching expression her way. Sam smiled sympathetically back at Andrew; but, said nothing. This was an issue between the Foyle men. Andrew had started it all by snaring his father in his little scheme and although she was infinitely grateful that he had succeeded; Christopher felt the need to set Andrew straight once and for all. She knew that he was grateful to his son, to a certain degree, but he was also determined to 'cure Andrew of his meddling'. She had heard that thought expressed more than his gratitude in the past couple of days; usually followed by his insistence that if he didn't stop Andrew's penchant for pushing and interfering now; they could never hope to have any peace or privacy in the future. So, while Andrew had her sympathy and gratitude, Christopher had her loyalty. Sam sat silent; trusting Christopher, as she always had, to know what was best and how the situation should be handled.

Andrew had not seen the look his father had given Sam and made another silent plea to her for support.

Foyle began, "Andrew, I admit, I might be slow in making a decision. But, once I do; I am all in!"

He slid his arm back a bit so he could rest his hand on Sam's knee. Sam moved her arm up and eased it around Christopher's shoulders. As he kept his eyes on his son, he rocked her knees towards him once and then stilled his arm; his thumb absently stroked circles on the side of her knee.

"However, my being slow at, well, anything. Doesn't give you the right to push."

Andrew's face brightened again and he opened his mouth; but, before he could interject a defense of his actions, Foyle raised his eyebrows as if to ask, 'You aren't thinking of interrupting me, are you?'.

Andrew closed his mouth and his father continued, "Yes, you were right. This time. But, my private life is still my business. Not yours. I mean it, Andrew. It's just a good thing for you it worked out as well as it did. And, it isn't yourself you have to thank for that result, its Sam."

His voice quavered just the tiniest bit, she doubted Andrew even noticed; but, Sam knew the reason behind it and the last part of his statement.

 **Author's Note:**

Being that I am American and born two decades after Foyle's War time frame, I do not know for certain; however, based on research of original sources closer to the late 1940s early 1950s, I am operating from the following two definitions of all-in.

Based on American College Dictionary Random house circa 1947-1962:

all-in; British use without restrictions.

and

Shorter Oxford English Dictionary on historical principles Circa 1973 - 2007, sixth addition to 2007 volume A – M:

all-in; with few or no restrictions

all in; Completely or wholeheartedly involved.


	3. Chapter 3

See Part 1 for Disclaimer, Spoilers, and Initial Author's Note

 **Chapter Three**

They had gone to lunch that Monday but neither had an appetite; each one was dealing with overwhelming thoughts and emotions. After spending the better part of an hour, sitting across from each other, attempting to talk about what neither could believe they were actually trying to discuss, Sam suggested they go for a walk instead. The pair felt self-conscious and awkward around each other; eye contact was uncomfortable and when their arms happened to brush together it was absolutely unnerving. Thirty minutes into their walk neither one had said a word. While they had maintained a certain physical proximity; Sam knew Foyle was withdrawing further and further into himself; losing himself in his thoughts. The longer time went on the more he worried the inside of his cheek. Sam stopped walking and just stood waiting, until, about four steps later Foyle turned back and faced her. They each struggled to maintain eye contact at first. Sam's gaze took in his face and she noted he had stopped biting his cheek; but, had begun to work his bottom lip over.

Sam drew in a deep breath and asked, "We're friends, right?"

Foyle had yet to find his voice; he drew the middle part of his bottom lip between his teeth and nodded mutely.

"Alright, we've talked about all kinds of problems that we've both faced over the years, right?"

Again he nodded; his eye contact becoming more comfortably familiar.

"I honestly don't know if this is a problem or not."

It wasn't a question but he answered anyway; very quietly, "Me either."

Sam nodded in acknowledgment. "But, I'll tell you what I do know."

He took a step closer to her, his eyes offering his question.

"I've lost so much in my life; I refuse to lose my best friend too."

Foyle took another step toward her; his features relaxed; one corner of his mouth drew back, in a hint of a smile and he gave a short firm nod of agreement, "Good."

"So, I have an idea, if you think it'll work."

She offered a small hopeful smile he recognized as hesitant version of one she had used for other 'ideas' she had shared over the years and he could not help but smile back.

They simply stood, smiling at each other, for a moment before he asked, "Do I get to hear what it is before I tell you if I think it'll work?"

The question was asked so sincerely, almost solemnly, in direct contradiction to his expression; Sam could not resist chuckling at him. It was just a few seconds and he was chuckling with her; they both finally began to relax. She stepped toward him, leaned in to close the distance between them and then brushed the faintest kiss to his cheek.

Staying near his ear, just long enough, to say softly, "Promise we stay friends no matter what. We don't say anything to anyone until _we_ know if there's a possibility of anything more between us. That way we have a better chance to keep our friendship, on our terms, without other people interfering and trying to fix us, if we decide we should only be friends." She pulled herself from her angled stance and looked him in the eye. "Think that'll work?"

"Yep."

She saw him swallow nervously after the single word. "What?"

"Does that mean ..." he paused to think of a way to ask, what was upper most in his thoughts; all that he could think of was to give a brief flick of his fingers between them as he completed the question, "you want more?"

She graced him with a full smile and said honestly, "I think more would be terrific." The smile morphed to a pinched expression, "Less would be intolerable." Her features relaxed as she finished her thought, "And, continuing as we have been would be acceptable."

His own expression remained neutral, "Right."

Foyle absently resumed his cheek worrying. Sam knew he was thinking about what she had said and hoped she had conveyed her thoughts clearly but without unduly influencing his thinking. It was important her know she was open to the prospect of more between them; but, it was equally important to her that he know, if he did not share that opinion, she still wanted them to remain friends. Sam remained quiet as she slipped her arm through his and they resumed their walk. Sometime later, they were approaching a corner and she steered him to turn instead of crossing the street. Realizing where they were, Foyle slipped his hand in his pocket and withdrew his key.

They entered his rooms, shed their coats, hung them up and then Sam went straight through to put the kettle on. Foyle thought to himself how natural it all was; they had done the same thing on dozens of occasions. He made his way into the sitting room and set the fire. Once the wood had caught the flame well, he placed the screen and then went into the small kitchen. Sam had found a bit of fruit and cheese for them to have with their tea. She had the tray set and ready with the tea and related items and had arranged the fruit and cheese in bite size pieces on a separate plate. He picked up the tray and his eyes instinctively sought Sam's. When she met his gaze, his mouth crooked back at one corner and Sam gave him a knowing smile in return. They both were aware of how well practiced; fluid and seamless, their interaction was. As was their custom they went to the sitting room and set the items on the low table between the wingback chairs. When neither one took their usual seat; but, stopped to look at the other instead, they both found it comical. Sam let out short laugh while Foyle smiled broadly and shook his head as he rolled his eyes.

Sam said, "And we were doing so well."

He gave her a quizzical look.

With another short laugh she said, "We haven't said a word since long before we walked in. Everything was ..." she shrugged, "automatic?" she offered.

He nodded that sound like the right word.

So, she continued, "Seems we both stalled at the same point. Kind of telling in its own right."

Her conspiratorial wink, at that point, drew a chuckle from him.

"I thought since we do have some talking to do, well, I mean, we usually talk. Just, this is, ..." she stalled and looked at him.

Foyle smiled at her and offered a nod, "I know."

"Right. So, I thought maybe ..." Sam twisted her mouth and squinted her eyes; the way he knew she did whenever she expected he might resist her impending suggestion.

He bent and picked up the tea tray as he finished her thought for her, "The couch?"

Sam smiled, both in relief that he did not mind and a bit of surprise that he knew what she was going to say. As she retrieved the plate, she realized it really was not all that surprising he knew what she was going to say. They both had developed quite a knack for reading each other.

They had their tea and talked. Each time Foyle would grow quiet for too long, usually biting the inside of his cheeks or lips, Sam would draw him back with another point of discussion. While they talked they had to force themselves, a few times, to remain open and honest with each other. That is not to say either was tempted to be dishonest; more that they both had to keep themselves from get stuck in their own thoughts or limiting their answers. Unlike their usual, naturally flowing, conversations; the unsettled feelings associated with the different types of questions they had to ask and answer blanketed the discussion with a thick veil of stress.

Eventually Sam suggested, with another twisted mouth and eye squinting expression, that maybe they should have 'practice date'.

Since, they had skipped lunch and had only had a bit of fruit and cheese earlier with their tea; Foyle asked, "Would going out for dinner this evening be too soon for this 'practice date'?"

Sam shook her head.

After the loss of appetite they had both experienced at lunch, Foyle thought he should check, "Hungry?"

Sam's face brightened as she smiled at him, "Yes. Are you?"

Her check of his appetite surprised Foyle; yet, warmed him all the same. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, "Yeah. I think I can eat."

The more he thought about food, the more Foyle realized he was actually getting rather hungry.

An idea came to mind as the stepped from his building and he asked, "The Guinea Grill?"

Sam turned surprised eyes to him, "Steak? Absolutely."

Foyle winked at her; pleased that his suggestion had made her was so happy, he looped his arm through hers and led her in the direction of his car.

In contrast to their experience at lunch; the pair ate heartily and talked easily. They did not talk about what their relationship might become or any of the events of the day. It was not a decision they had discussed or anything either had suggested; they simply did not revisit the earlier part of their day. About half way through dinner it occurred to Foyle that they had, through some sort of silent agreement, both taken the suggestion of a 'practice date' quite seriously. He felt like he was on a date, all the factors were present; a pleasant environment, delicious dinner, engaging conversation, and a charming companion.

Foyle knew, by the time their 'date' was coming to its conclusion, he had to something very important to say to Sam before they parted for the night. Sam had persisted and kept him actively engaged in their conversation throughout that afternoon. He had retreated into his mind; between Andrew's office and lunch, and was continually drawn back by his thoughts and concerns. Sam stayed alert and while she had allowed for him to have time to think, she prevented his getting lost in his own head. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that he could have lost her by shutting down and shutting her out. Sam had not let that happen; the more he thought about it the more grateful he felt. That thought had constantly returned to him throughout their 'date'. As he drove her home, Foyle thought about how he needed to say to Sam and how he wanted to say it.

When they arrived at the door of her flat to say goodnight, he was suddenly filled with a great reluctance to part; he leaned toward her and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, "Nothing less. I don't think either of us wishes to be 'intolerable'." he leaned back and smirked a brief, slightly nervous look of 'Right?' at her before he braved to ask seriously, "Do we?"

"No, we don't." She responded simply before she turned to unlock her door.

Sam had decided that she needed to tell him exactly what she had thought earlier when she had made the more and less comment. She had had such difficulty figuring out how to say what she was thinking at the time and had since clarified her thoughts. She opened the door and stepped in. When she turned to face him she found Foyle was still standing on the stoop. Sam reached out and tugged his coat sleeve as she motioned with her head that he should come in. Once he had cleared the doorway, she secured the door latch and lock. Sam raised her hand to reach up and tenderly stroked his face; her eyes held his and she gave him a hesitant smile. She was sure of what she was going to say but was still concerned by how he might react.

"We have covered more personal topics and private thoughts today than any other single time I can remember. And, I need to clarify one thing before we say goodnight." Her hand came to a gentle rest along his cheek. "I don't want this to put any undue pressure on you or your thinking about the things we discussed today. But, I want you to know I am certain that I want absolutely everything that's possible with you." Her thumb stroked lightly over his cheekbone as she repeated, "Everything." She leaned into the space between their faces, about half way, and continued, "But, I am willing to accept whatever you are comfortable with, Christopher." Sam brushed her lips across his with only a hint of any actual contact and breathed past his other cheek, "Only you can say what that is."

Sam turned her head and placed a kiss on his cheek before she leaned back slightly, her eyes seeking his as she put some space between them again. As she began to draw her hand from his cheek their gazes met; Foyle took in her slightly hooded eyes and titled his face into her fingers. Heartened by his subtle action; Sam stilled her movement and gave him a little smile.

Foyle kept his face against her fingers and spoke softly, "You're saying if I want more with you it's alright and if I want things between us to remain as they have been that's alright too."

It was not a question, he was telling her he had heard and understood what she was saying.

Her smile pulled a little tighter at the corners of her mouth and she tilted her head in an abbreviated nod.

 **Author's Note:** The Newlford is non-existent; used the name in memory of a friend. The Guinea Grill is in operation, in London, and has been since 1952; in the same location. I have not been; but, some friends have and recently mentioned the place when sharing stories of their trip to England a few months back. I merely borrowed the name and referenced the steaks they are famous for; no endorsement for or profit from.


	4. Chapter 4

See Part One for Disclaimer, Spoiler, and Initial Author's Note. Additional notes in applicable chapters.

 **Chapter Four**

Foyle had agreed to Sam's suggestion of the 'practice date'; but, he was through with practicing. Christopher was ready to put the practice to purpose. He placed a hand at her waist and slowly moved it around to the small of her back and then glided it upward a little as he eased her body incrementally closer.

Their faces grew nearer and he swallowed, when they were just a scant distance apart he said, "Sam, I think more is definitely in order."

His head moved forward the tiny distance needed to touch his lips to hers and Foyle gave her a tentative tender kiss. As he tilted his head back, Sam's fingers twitched an almost imperceptibly against his cheek. Shifting his eyes to hers and again finding the faintly hooded gaze; he was compelled to reverse the motion of his head. Christopher angled his mouth toward hers and met her lips with his once more. It was not what he had expected; the sudden intensity from their mutual response nearly took his breath. It had him tightening his arm about Sam and pulling her close; in an almost desperate need, he claimed Sam's mouth with his as his arm pulled her closer still. His other hand found its way to her head, cradling it with just a hint of pressure from his fingertips; an attempt to convey the depth of his need to be close to her. Sam's fingers made their way from his cheek, down and around his neck, to glide into the loose curls of hair just above his collar. Her other hand clutched at the front of his coat, pulling herself just that much closer. The same need he felt; for the reassurance of physical closeness, was mirrored in Sam's actions. Foyle shifted his weight and braced himself for better balance. With one shoulder pushed against the door, he threaded his fingers further into Sam's hair; resting the palm of his hand fully against her head as he began to ease his demand for her kiss. Acutely aware of the resonating rhythm his heart was thrumming throughout his body; Foyle realized his ears felt hot too and was sure they were showing that heat in an unmistakable red hue. Pulling long slow breaths in through his nose, he strove to reduce the fevered heat he had unwittingly allowed to build within. Christopher began to press short swift kisses to Sam's lips in ever slowing and decreasing pressure as he moved his lips along her cheek toward her ear. His mouth twitched at one corner when his lips registered the heat, and his eyes confirmed the flush, on her cheek. He was not the only one greatly affected by their ardent exchange. With a final kiss to her earlobe, he rested the side of his head to hers as he soothingly massaged the tips of his fingers in her hair.

"Sam, I have a strong sense of relief and yet I feel a strangely desperate need to forestall some unknown loss. I know that doesn't make any sense but ..."

He felt her head move up and down alongside his and then heard what sounded like a strangled laugh.

Sam turned her face to him and nuzzled her way under the edge of his coat, just before he heard her say in her nearly muted voice; her lips pressed to his neck, "No, Christopher. It makes perfect sense. I felt that way in Andrew's office today. I was relieved he had said something because I knew neither of us was likely to ever bring the subject up. Probably too afraid of losing what we had. But, at the same time, I felt desperate for confirmation we hadn't lost anything because the subject _had_ been raised. It didn't make sense to me then. But, I understand what you mean, now."

Foyle leaned his head over her face for just a second or two, not wanting to stifle her air, and then he raised his head from hers to tilt it back so he could look at her. Sam felt his movements and lifted her head too. Foyle's eyes found hers and he canted his forehead to hers; his expression, even in the close and odd angle, showed she had helped clarify his feelings with her description.

Sam held his eyes for another moment and then let hers drift closed as she confessed, "I still feel like we are at risk of losing our friendship." The sigh that followed her words punctuated her statement with a hint to the depth of her fear.

His voice was low and unnaturally tight as he insisted, "No, Sam. That won't happen." he swallowed down a wave of emotion before he added, "It can't happen; neither one of us could survive it. We're too much a part of each other. Have been for years. You know?"

Sam opened her eyes as she agreed, with a question, "Just didn't see the wood for trees?"

Christopher framed her face with his hands and offered earnestly, "Maybe. I don't know how we got here. But, I wouldn't change a thing."

Sam squeezed Christopher's shoulder just enough to get his attention. When his eyes found hers she gave him a little smile with slightly hooded eyes; an expression he had become very fond of over the previous week. To him, it said just how much she loved him and he looked at her for a long time; losing himself in the expression she held. He slowly reached across his chest and stretched his arm up toward her head; gently threading his fingers into her hair. With the faintest pressure he guided her head down to meet his upturned face. He gave her a single, firm kiss and then found her eyes once more. The tenderness reflected in them matched the sweet half smile he offered her as he slipped his fingers from her hair and drifted them across her cheek. He dropped his hand back in his lap but they held each other's eyes for another moment or two.

That was until; Andrew cleared his throat, "Hello. Still in the room with you."

Sam broke from the gaze first and mumbled, "Sorry." as she sported an apologetic expression.

Christopher surprised them both by saying, "I'm not." while he still looked up at Sam. Then he turned to look at his son, "Andrew, you've been after me to find someone for years. Get used to it." He held a look on his son that dared him to voice a contradiction.

Andrew swallowed and said, "You're right. I have. I was worried about you and wondered why you always seemed to prefer being alone. I thought you should have a …" he hesitated; not wanting to label his dad and Sam in anyway, he mentally scrambled for the right word, "uhm, companion. I just, well I, didn't, uhm ..." he stalled completely then and turned beseeching eyes to Sam once more, before staring blankly at his dad.

When Christopher did not say anything Sam suggested, "Didn't think about how it would change things?"

The younger man blinked at her and she felt Christopher's hand tighten the slightest bit on her knee, just before Andrew managed to say, with a note of relief in his voice, "Yeah, something like that."

Christopher then said, with a hint of humor in his voice, "More like he didn't think about what it would _look_ like."

When Andrew began to blush, Sam tried her best to stifle her laughter of surprise. That effort was made more difficult when she snuck a glance at Christopher whose face showed his self-satisfaction in having once more accurately identified the source of his son's discomfort. Sam bit her lip and hastily swiped at the tears of laughter that were beginning to collect in her eyes.

Christopher glanced at her and gave her an unmercifully wicked smirk before he turned back to Andrew and said in, an even, matter of fact manner, "Like I said, 'get used to it'."

Before he finished the sentence Foyle had swung Sam's legs from the arm of the chair and pulled them across his lap. By the time he finished speaking his hand had moved up to her waist to steady her and the arm that had rested on her legs had slipped around behind her to support her back.

Her stunned expression only caused him momentary hesitation as he checked with her first, "Right?"

She started to ask 'What?' But then she recalled what he had just said to Andrew.

As the realization played out across her face and Foyle was sure she understood the question, he gave her a quick questioning glance.

Sam nodded and managed, "Uh huh."

In one fluid motion he had pulled her off the arm of the chair and fully onto his lap. Her gasp of surprise was lost when he quickly fused his lips to hers and claimed her mouth. Christopher's kiss was completely unreserved as he paid no deference to his son's presence. In the back of Sam's mind the thought came to her that Foyle had not exactly played fair but she was quite certain; fair play or not, when it came to proving his point to Andrew, he had more than succeeded that day.


End file.
